


I find you stunning, but you are running me down

by lordmxrphy



Series: big love, small parts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Miller and Clarke are step-siblings, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is infuriating. He does awful things like smile at her with that full-dimpled grin of his, taunting and magnetic, and it feels like a knife in the chest. </p>
<p>Or the one where Clarke's got a crush on her brother's best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. baby you've got the sort of hands to rip me apart

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you like it!! Comments are the best <3
> 
> The title is from Ingrid Michaelson's [Sort Of](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_4utiBscIE). Listen to it if you want your shipper heart to cry.

Bellamy Blake is infuriating.

He does awful things like smile at her with that full-dimpled grin of his, taunting and magnetic, and it feels like a knife in the chest. Because it’s Bellamy. Bellamy, who saw her with braces and knobby knees. Who still remembers she used to have a poster of Edward fucking Cullen on her wall. (She was in 7th grade and he’ll never let her live it down.) Bellamy, who will never see her as anything but a kid, a second sister. And Clarke is hopelessly, helplessly in love with him. 

This summer it’s even harder because he’s _always around_. Eating her pizza, teasing her, completely unaware of how his deep brown eyes cloud her thoughts and his casual touches spark her skin. It’s ridiculous the way he makes her stomach tie up in knots. 

Clarke can’t take it, so she makes an effort to get out of her house, inviting Raven to lounge at the pool, letting Wells and Monty drag her to every superhero and action movie out (there are a lot). But, like she said, he’s _always around_. And after Wells, Raven, and Monty, Bellamy’s one of her closest friends, not to mention Miller’s best friend, so she can’t avoid him. And if she is being honest with herself, she likes his constant presence in her life. 

“Is everything okay with Bellamy at home?” she asks Miller one night, finally giving in to the curiosity gnawing at her. It’s the first time in a while Bellamy isn’t around; she and Miller are sprawled on the couch in the basement, basking in the cool reprieve from the stifling July heat, watching the Harry Potter movies for the thousandth time. 

Miller glances at her, brow furrowed. It’s been twelve years and he still has the same bewildered expression when he’s confused. It’s the same look he wore when her mom and his dad told them they were going to be a family. 

Clarke had been five years old, Miller a year older, and in one fell swoop she had a new dad and a new best friend. She and Miller were close from the start, the quiet boy had been happy to listen to Clarke’s stories and act them out with her. They went on quests, battled invisible dragons, and outwitted trickster fairies that hid in the trees. Miller and his dad fit right into Clarke’s life. Like puzzle pieces she hadn’t realized she needed. David Miller is a kind and patient parent, the perfect balance to her mother’s intensity and strength of emotion. And although Clarke sometimes feels guilty she doesn’t remember much of the father who died when she was three, the truth is that David is her dad. He raised her, taught her to ride a bike, kissed scraped knees when she fell, and told the worst jokes. She loves him and she loves her brother. She’s lucky to have them.

Which isn’t to say her brother isn’t weird sometimes, because he definitely has his idiosyncrasies. Like how, ever since Bellamy started it in 7th grade, he has insisted everyone, including Clarke, call him Miller instead of by his first name, Nathan. The only people who get away with calling him Nathan are their parents and, oddly, Monty. Or how Miller almost never takes his beanie off, even in the summer. The only time it ever comes off is when the heat is unbearable or in the pool.

“Yeah, I think so, he hasn’t mentioned a fight with his mom or anything. Why?” Miller replies, around the twizzler in his mouth. 

“It just seems like he’s over here more than usual,” Clarke shrugs, trying to play it cool. Miller doesn’t seem to notice anything is off. 

“I think Octavia’s dance team practices at their house a lot, and he likes getting away from the noise. Does he bother you? I could tell him to get lost if it’s a problem,” Miller’s smiling but Clarke knows he means it, if she said she was uncomfortable with any of his friends he would make sure they stopped coming by. But the problem isn’t that she dislikes having Bellamy around, it’s that she likes it too much. She doesn’t think her brother needs to know that. And she doesn’t want to make things weird by forcing Bellamy away.

“No, no, it’s fine…” Clarke holds back a sigh, “Really,” she adds when Miller lifts an eyebrow. He just nods, taking her words at face value and turning back to the film.

And it is fine. For a week at least. 

Clarke’s lost track of what day of the week it is, like she always does in the summer, but it’s probably Sunday and she’s curled up in the armchair in the living room. She just popped in When in Rome, it’s pretty standard for a romantic comedy, but Clarke can’t help but smile at Kristen Bell and Josh Duhamel dancing around each other. It’s one of her go-to happy movies, and that’s what she needs today. She’s feeling gross and her cramps are killing her. (Periods are the worst.) The movie has barely started, Kristen Bell’s character just got to Rome, when Clarke hears the front door bang open spilling boys into her house. She can hear Miller, along with who she presumes to be Bellamy and Murphy, in the kitchen, scouring the fridge and raiding the cabinets. Clarke hopes Miller doesn’t know mom bought candy, but as soon as the thought crosses her mind her brother calls.

“Clarke! Do you know where all the stuff Mom got is?” he yells, unaware she’s just in the living room, not on mars.

“I’m right here, loser,” she calls back. Miller crashes through the door, grinning at the assortment of junk food on the table beside her.

“Jackpot.”

“Don’t let your dumbass friends eat everything, and I’m keeping the milk duds,” Miller rolls his eyes in response, reaching for the candy as Bellamy pushes through the door behind him.

She expects Bellamy to say something snarky about calling him and Murphy dumbasses, but he doesn’t. 

“Clarke, were you planning on eating all this yourself?” he has perfected the shit-eating grin.

“Well, I _was_.” Bellamy chuckles.

Clarke knows she’s not at her best right now, she’s wearing her most comfortable (and therefore least presentable) blue tank top, she doesn’t have a speck of makeup on her face and her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and normally she would probably be embarrassed about Bellamy seeing her like this, but today she just can’t bring herself to give a fuck. All she wants is chocolate and a cheesy film to distract her. Besides, Bellamy has seen her in every possible state of disarray over the years. It’s not the first time she’s looked less than stellar in front of him and it probably won’t be the last. So, she ignores the guys and turns back to the TV, pressing the play button, ready to fall in love with Kristen Bell all over again. 

She startles slightly when Bellamy takes a seat on the arm of her chair, warm against her shoulder. He’s wearing some sort of aftershave or cologne or something that smells amazing. She’s distracted despite herself, all of a sudden unable to concentrate on the movie. When she sneaks a glance up at him, his eyes are glued to the screen and he laughs when Kristen’s character makes a scene, offending her sister’s entire family of in-laws at a wedding. 

By this point Miller and Murphy have gathered all the junk food in their arms and are heading to the basement. Murphy speaks through a mouthful of Cheetos, “Blake, you comin’?”

Bellamy just shakes his head, “Nah, this movie looks good,” Murphy shrugs and Miller doesn’t seem to care. Their footsteps thud loudly down the stairs. 

It would be an understatement to say Clarke is surprised Bellamy just begged off hanging out with his best friends to watch a chick flick. With her. He shifts, getting more comfortable on the chair’s arm and jostling her with his movement.

“There’s another chair, and a couch, you know?” Clarke remarks dryly, hoping despite her words that he’ll stay right where he is.

“I know,” he doesn’t move. Clarke focuses back on the movie, praying that if he looks at her he’ll think it’s the movie she’s smiling at. 

He’s a warm and welcome distraction beside her, only getting up once to make popcorn they share in a bowl between them. Bellamy seems to genuinely be enjoying the movie and Clarke’s heart skips when he leans his arm against the back of her chair. With the position they’re in it’s not like he has his arm around her but it’s close enough. She feels ridiculous because just his presence shouldn’t have such an effect on her. It’s worth it later on when she subconsciously rests her hand on Bellamy’s thigh next to the popcorn bowl and he goes still beneath her. She glances at him, but his gaze is still locked on the screen and she can’t read the expression on his face. She casually moves her hand back to her lap, and when she looks up again she swears he looks a little disappointed. But it could just be the movie, she hasn’t been enough paying attention to know what’s happening on screen.

The movie ends too soon, but Bellamy stays through the credits until the screen is black before he gets up and heads to the basement. Clarke doesn’t move, just switches the screen to whatever dumb program is on, her mind still replaying what it felt like to have him with her.

  


* * *

  


It’s towards the end of July and her parents are in Boston visiting relatives when Monty calls Clarke about getting their group together to try his new batch of moonshine. That night finds Clarke, Wells, Raven, and Monty sitting in a circle on the floor of her basement playing Cards Against Humanity and passing around Monty’s brew. 

Clarke mixes hers with coke, not hardcore enough to drink the stuff straight from the bottle. Wells does the same, but Raven just swigs straight from the source and Clarke is more than a little intimidated by her friend at that moment. She doesn’t even _wince_. 

Miller and Bellamy come home to find them already half-way to smashed, laughing hysterically at the game. 

Clarke is more drunk than she realized because she throws her arms open when she sees them, “You’re back!” her voice is loud and her cheeks are warm and flushed, but she’s having too much fun to care. She starts singing The Boys Are Back and Monty joins in immediately while Wells and Raven snicker. Miller shakes his head in amusement, chuckling softly while Bellamy’s grin broadens. 

“What have you guys been up to?” Miller sing-songs. Clarke’s too distracted by Bellamy to notice how her brother’s eyes keep flicking over to Monty, or how he adjusts his beanie self-consciously. Bellamy’s wearing his signature look of dark jeans and combat boots. He’s wearing a black shirt that stretches tightly over his shoulders, Clarke doesn’t even realize she’s been ogling him until Wells speaks.

“Monty—Monty—made some—moonshine,” Wells hiccups, more than a little drunk. Raven is the only one still holding onto her faculties. Clarke’s starting to think she’s not fully human. 

She chances a glance back at Bellamy. His eyes flit up and his cheeks turn pink. Clarke’s wearing a grey Henley Raven talked her into buying and it takes her a moment to process Bellamy’s reaction, but when she realizes Bellamy was checking her out, she makes a mental note to let Raven pick out all her clothes from now on.

“You boys want some?” Raven asks, brandishing the bottle. Clarke and Monty widen the circle making room for Miller and Bellamy. Bellamy sits next to Clarke and she immediately leans against his arm. Raven passes him the bottle, smirking slightly. Clarke sees the look and glares at her. Clarke isn’t too far gone, just fuzzy, relaxed, uninhibited. She knows what Raven’s thinking. She’s the only one Clarke’s told about her embarrassingly big crush on Bellamy, though she’s pretty sure Wells and Monty have figured it out. And though it’s nice to be able to talk about him with Raven, her friend is fully dedicated to encouraging Clarke to just ‘jump him already.’ 

Bellamy doesn’t notice the exchange. He grabs the bottle and takes a big swig. He immediately sputters, cursing, “Jesus Christ, Monty!” he scratches out. Miller is more prepared for the moonshine it seems, he takes a smaller sip, but still coughs. 

“Don’t worry, the more you have the easier it goes down,” Monty assures them drinking another mouthful with only a light wince. The boys join the card game and soon Miller and Raven are competing to see who can come up with the best innuendo. They’re all laughing and Clarke feels warm. She switches to water, the moonshine and Bellamy’s presence affecting her.

Clarke already knew she was a flirty, tactile drunk, but she’s never really been drunk around Bellamy before. She brushes his fingers as they pass the moonshine, and leans her chin against his shoulder trying to see his cards. He doesn’t pull away, letting her curl around him. Their thighs are pressed together and he’s smiling at her, and all she wants to feel are his lips, but she draws the line there, stopping herself. 

Her friends are all distracted by Raven and her brother’s ridiculousness so they don’t notice when Clarke abandons her cards and starts to play with Bellamy’s fingers. He lets her fiddle with his hand. She traces patterns on his skin, swirling and connecting his freckles with a light touch. His warm breath puffs against her cheek when she skims over the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. Her fingers still and she’s suddenly aware of how close they are, that if she turned her head just slightly they’d be nose to nose. She can’t bring herself to look at him, but his gaze scorches. The air feels electric; sparks tickle her skin. The world goes quiet around her. Slowing down. She’s so still and she can feel Bellamy’s heart racing where her shoulder is touching his chest. She moves slowly, sliding her fingers between his own, his large hand enveloping her small one. His brown skin is dark against her pale fingers. His thumb gently starts tracing circles on the back of her hand. She swallows hard, her breaths shallow as she starts to turn toward him. 

A burst of laughter from her friends makes her head snap up, breaking the spell. Neither of them pulls away, their hands stay clasped in her lap. 

Their group gets progressively louder as the night wears on. After Raven wins the game, Monty begs until they all agree to watch the Star Wars. Again. Normally, Clarke would be happy to watch the movies, but she has to let go of Bellamy hand when they get up. She misses the warmth of his palm immediately, but she doesn’t think she can get away with reaching for it again later. 

She drops into her favorite oversized armchair, draping her legs over the side, it’s already perpendicular to the TV because she always watches like this. Everyone else ends up on the sofa and she expects Bellamy to take the last spot there, but he slides in next to her, crowding her. It’s a tight fit, but she can’t bring herself to care about anything with Bellamy this close, surrounding her in warmth. Miller gives Bellamy a look when he goes to switch off the lights and slip the disc into the player, but Bellamy just shrugs him off. Clarke doesn’t know what to make of that. 

She’s still a little buzzed and Bellamy smells incredible, so Clarke blames it on the alcohol when she nestles her nose into his shoulder, feeling brave under the cloak of dark and the sounds and flickering lights from the movie. 

Twenty minutes in, Bellamy’s moves, quietly and softly bringing his hand to rest on top of hers on her thigh. She completely ignores Luke Skywalker, holding her breath as Bellamy tangles their fingers together.

Clarke’s kissed plenty of people. Girls, boys, Raven a couple times. She’s also done a whole lot more than kiss. She and her girlfriend had been pretty serious before Anya moved away and they broke up. But somehow this, the simple act of holding Bellamy’s hand, his body against hers, feels like the most intimate thing she’s ever done. And she’s terrified that when the movie ends and the lights come up, she’ll never find this closeness with him again. That in a flash it will disappear. A fleeting moment in sea of minutes, falling beneath the break of the waves, sinking down and disappearing into the abyss. But she doesn’t know how to stop time or keep a moment in a jar, so she just relaxes, letting herself enjoy this small slice of what could be.


	2. my love's too big for you my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changes and nothing does. Bellamy still comes by the house all the time, but the air is full of shy smiles and hesitant looks. Clarke feels like they're teetering at the precipice of a cliff. And all she wants to do is free fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the response the first chapter got was INCREDIBLE. Thank you so, so much to everyone who commented, reblogged, liked, fangirled, or gave kudos. You're all AMAZING. I was totally overwhelmed (in the best way possible) by the outpouring of love this little fic got <33
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long, college and life got in the way, but it actually ended up being longer than I intended, so I hope that's okay:) 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts, what you liked, what you'd like to see.. anything and everything you can think of. You can leave a comment here or find me on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/), I love chatting with you guys!!
> 
> (Un-betaed. All mistakes are my own. The title is from the same song as the first chapter - Sort of by Ingrid Michaelson)

The next day is like any other. Painfully ordinary.

Last night feels like a dream, an impossible reality that could only have existed under a haze of darkness and alcohol. Morning brings a cool and harsh reminder of how things really are.

Clarke feels like she’s missing something important. She knows she can’t have imagined the electricity, the sparks that twisted around her fingers where her skin met his, she knows it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. It can’t have been all her. But if last night meant anything to Bellamy, he does a good job of hiding it. 

She walks in to the kitchen still not fully awake and her eyes slide to Bellamy like his pull is magnetic. His hair is a mess, the black curls are plastered to his forehead, one side sticking up in a cowlick. His clothes are rumpled and wrinkly, but in his freckles stand out, a scattering of stars in the morning light. He moves, getting a mug out of the cupboard above the coffeemaker, the muscles in his back flex as he reaches up, a small sliver of skin peaking out beneath his shirt. Clarke’s mouth goes dry. She looks back up when he turns around, his eyes flit to meet hers briefly and he gives her a slight smile as he hands her a mug of fresh coffee in her favorite mug. 

Everyone slept over at the house last night, too drunk to get home safely. Raven and Clarke shared her bed while Miller and the rest of the boys hadn’t bothered to move and slept in varying positions on the couch in the basement. They’re all gathered around the island in the kitchen, sipping coffee, feeling like death warmed over. 

It’s like any other morning. The thought sticks in her stomach, heavy like tar. Clarke desperately tries to keep herself from constantly looking over at Bellamy and mostly succeeds. He barely even glances at her all throughout breakfast. It feels awful. Like a rejection. Bellamy rushes off after he eats, heading to drive Octavia to a dance showcase. 

Clarke’s thoughts twist and tangle. As soon as she can, she pulls Raven away from the group and shuts them in her bedroom. 

“Everything okay, babe?” Raven asks, cocking an eyebrow like an asshole. Clarke is clearly not okay, and Raven knows it. She plops down on Clarke’s bed and pulls a pillow into her lap. 

“I just, I don’t know how to deal with him anymore,” Clarke huffs, she falls back on the bed, lying back to stare at her ceiling.

“Bellamy?”

“Fucking—YES, Bellamy.” Clarke rubs her forehead, “Last night… Last night, it seemed like…”

“Shit, Clarke! Did something happen? You guys were flirting, but--”

“Nothing… Nothing happened. Exactly. It was more… fuck, I don’t know. It felt like… something. To me. But…” 

“But you’re worried you’ve wanted him for so long that you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Raven nods understandingly.

Clarke sighs, “Exactly.”

“Okay, you want to hear what I think?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him.”

Clarke sits up in a rush, “What?!”

“Tell him how you feel. Put your cards on the table. Look, Clarke, I know you’re worried about making things weird, but things are _already_ weird for you. At least this way you’ll know one way or another how he feels.”

“You don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You, you don’t understand… what it feels like. I’m in—It’s too big. It would change too much. And if, if he doesn’t feel the same way I don’t want to lose him.”

“But what if--” 

That’s the thing: the ‘what if”, the possibility, the wonder. What if. Maybe. Perhaps. It’s a fog, clouding her judgment and obscuring her vision. Clarke doesn’t think she’ll get over him until he leaves, goes off to college and lifts out of her life. And even then she’s not sure. Her feelings run deep, like roots tangled and sprawling in dark soil. She can’t tear them out, it would be like ripping out a part of herself. She just hopes that in time she can make room for someone else, even if what she feels for Bellamy never fades completely.

“I can’t Raven, I just can’t.” 

It’s a block in her chest. In her throat. She can’t _breathe_ around him. (And sometimes it feels like she can’t breathe without him.) She can’t tell him. He could break her. He has the power to split her in two, and he doesn’t even know. And Clarke doesn’t know if she could put herself back together once he ripped her apart.

* * *

The next day Bellamy is notably absent from the house. Clarke feels itchy and paranoid about it. Worry flutters in her stomach, spiders of doubt spin webs of anxiety. 

Miller must sense her unease because he asks her if she wants to go to a movie, and doesn’t even complain when she chooses the new Pixar flick. 

Miller’s always been her person. He makes her feel safe, it’s unconditional trust and love, knowing the other person will always be there, will always have your back. Raven and Wells are her best friends, but sometimes a girl needs her big brother to lean on. Miller’s easy, upfront the way most people aren’t. He doesn’t mince words or speak in circles, he says what he means and means what he says.

* * *

When Miller came out it was with two words: “I’m gay” when he was fourteen, in between periods of a hockey game their family was watching one weekend. Abby cried and pulled Miller into a hug, telling him how much she loved him. Their dad said less but gave him a firm hug and told Miller he was proud of him. Clarke smiled and squeezed her brother’s hand, she knew that, to Miller, actions mattered more than any words she could say. She also knew that the only thing Miller really cared about in at the time was getting back to watching the game. 

A year later, Clarke asked Miller how he knew he was gay. She was struggling and confused because she liked boys, but thought she might like girls too. 

It had been one of those rare fall days, warm enough to have the window open but not hot enough for AC or cold enough to need too many layers. They lay on his bed for hours talking and letting beats of silence run between their sentences. Clarke rested her head against his shoulder as she gazed up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Miller’s ceiling, constellations their dad mapped out when Miller was seven and afraid of the dark. 

After talking until her throat felt raw, Miller pulled out his laptop and they spent the rest of the night watching the Bourne Identity movies on his bed. 

Clarke didn’t tell her parents she was bi until she was fifteen, but Miller, Miller was the first person to know.

Her brother was there for her then, and he would be there for her any time she needed him, and that was enough. It was everything.

* * *

They get tickets for a 3 o’clock showing, and since it’s a Monday, all the seats are empty when they arrive, apart from a couple of ten-year-old girls. 

She and Miller take seats towards the back and spread out their assortment of food. They have a soda each --cherry coke for Clarke and root beer for Miller--, popcorn to share, twizzlers, and milk duds. It’s a ritual they’ve had since they were kids, one they only do when it’s just them at the movies. They pour the milk duds into the popcorn, mix it together, and bite off the ends of twizzlers to use as straws for their soda. It’s kind of disgusting and they’re definitely too old for it, but it’s fun and reminds Clarke of June when she was eight and she and miller set up a tent and ‘camped’ in the back yard. It echoes of whispers under blankets, laughing until they couldn’t breathe, and eating so much candy their bellies ached.

She cries during the movie, (because Pixar always manages to get her, although Miller does his share of sniffling too), but afterwards she feels calmer. She spends the rest of the evening and night lost in a cloud of charcoal dust and pencil shavings and sleeps better that night than she has since Saturday.

* * *

Everything changes and nothing does. Bellamy still comes by the house all the time, but the air is full of shy smiles and hesitant looks. Clarke feels like they’re teetering at the precipice of a cliff. And all she wants to do is free fall.

She wishes she could say something. But it’s terrifying: the possibility of rejection. She’s never been one to shy away from a challenge, or think that the guy should make the first move. That’s not it. It’s fear. Fear that she’s not enough. Or that what she feels is too much. It’s almost easier to exist in this state of almost than to take the plunge into the unknown. 

She’s so tired of all the questions swirling in her head she’s about to crawl out of her skin. It’s fucking ridiculous. She wants to scream, she sits in the same room as him and all she wants is to talk or kiss or touch or something more than this nothing she’s suffocating in.

It gets easier, after a while, to pretend nothing’s changed, to pretend that when she meets Bellamy’s eyes it doesn’t take her breath away, to pretend that being around him doesn’t tie her up in knots. She swallows her heart, keeps it from filtering out through her words, her expressions, her eyes. It’s a weight, but she can breathe with it now. (She can almost believe that.)

She and Bellamy fall back into old patterns. But now, when they hang out together, she keeps her distance. It helps. It’s harder when beer or moonshine dull her worries and she starts to forget why it’s such a bad idea to be near Bellamy, so she sticks to soda or water to keep the words on the tip of her tongue from spilling out, unbidden.

* * *

Every year, Miller and Clarke’s neighborhood has an end of summer celebration. There are water games and a cookout and at night they have fireworks. Kids play in the pool and run around with sticky fingers stained with popsicle juice. They and all their friends go every year. They spend the whole day in the sun and stuff themselves with ice cream and watermelon, the perfect end to summer before it’s back to early mornings and homework.

Clarke’s hair drips down her back, still wet from the pool, her bikini ties peek out from the edges of her jean shorts and the top of her blouse. She lies on a blanket on the grass watching as the sky darkens until it’s almost indigo. Music beats against the crawl of night, an upbeat tempo that’s been playing all summer, something Clarke’s heard a million times. Her friends chatter excitedly around her, Wells sits beside Clarke, arguing with Murphy over… something. Clarke stopped paying attention almost as soon as they started. Murphy and Wells’ always eventually end up arguing anyway. Raven left earlier to spend some time with family visiting from Mexico. 

Clarke basks in lazy exhaustion, her nose and shoulders a little rosy from the sun and her hair bright with highlights, soon to be a fading relic of summer. She leans back on her elbows, stretched out on the blanket, facing Miller and Monty who are off in a world of their own. 

Miller’s angled completely towards Monty and Clarke’s lips tilt up in a smile. Over the past month, she’s noticed how small things about her brother around Monty. How he bites back smiles when she mentions Monty and gets flustered and clumsy when the other boy is in the room, tripping over his own feet and dropping books. It’s adorable and, frankly, hilarious. Her brother hasn’t really dated, mainly because there wasn’t anyone he liked, but it seems that Monty might be that person for him. And she can tell Monty’s feels the same way, he’s pretty easy to read. She hopes one of them makes a move soon.

A throat clears beside her, snapping her away from her reverie, she turns to find Bellamy, he gestures to the open space on the blanket beside her.

“You mind?”

She shakes her head, she hadn’t been thinking about him when she picked the spot and now she can’t leave without seeming rude and obvious.

He settles beside her. His hair is exceptionally curly tonight from the pool. Clarke tugs her eyes away reluctantly. He kicks off his flip flops and leans back on his hands. Too close and not close enough. He smells like chlorine and grill smoke, like the relief of summer, laughing until she’s breathless, like shy smiles, rollercoasters, and her stomach dropping even after the ride because the boy with dark eyes full of magic laughed at one of her jokes. 

She and Bellamy chat idly about movies and the upcoming school year, they’re both on student council, Bellamy’s president of the Senior class and Clarke’s one of the representatives for the Juniors and they have their first meeting on Tuesday next week. 

The air is soft, kissing Clarke’s cheeks, carrying the smell of smoke and freshly cut grass. The air thrums with the sound of crickets and lightning bugs flash around them like they’re sitting in a field of stars.

A strong breeze blows in and Clarke shivers, her clothes still a little damp from her bathing suit. Bellamy gets up and a moment later a sweatshirt with their high school’s mascot drops into her lap. Bellamy sits back down and Clarke hesitates a moment before she slips the sweatshirt over her head. It’s soft and smells like Bellamy, swamping her in fabric. She has to roll up the sleeves several times before her hands appear again.

The music changes and everyone starts settling on the grass, getting ready for the fireworks. Bellamy leans back on his hands, his fingers graze hers. She doesn’t even realize she’s watching him until he meets her eyes. He’s swamped in shadows, almost indistinguishable, but his eyes send flickers of warmth up and down her spine. 

The first blast of a firework shakes her and she sits up to watch. Illuminations map out the sky in shades of vivid light. Gold stars’ fizzle. Pinwheels explode in bursts of color. Bright pops of red and blue and green explosions crackle and burn. The booms and blasts drown out Clarke’s thoughts. 

Bellamy changes his position, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his folded knees. Their shoulders brush. Bellamy fingers skim her thigh when he moves his hand. Her breath catches at the sensation and she’s glad the loud explosions mask the beat of her heart. Rockets sparkle, dangling in the air, trailing clouds of smoke, but all her mind wants to focus on are the sparks dancing across her own skin. Bellamy clears his throat and she looks over in time to see him turn away. His face lights up in shades of gold and red, bursts of color catch in his eyes and Clarke wonders for the thousandth time what he sees when he looks at her. 

Bellamy feels her gaze and turns, this time Clarke meets his eyes. His eyebrows pucker in a silent question; Clarke just smiles before gazing back up at the sky. Bellamy pauses then he turns his face upward again. Both of their hands rest on the blanket between them, Clarke freezes when his long fingers brush hers again. 

This time there is no question of intentions, no guise of alcohol to account for lowered inhibitions or fuzzy feelings. It’s all Bellamy when his large hand curls around her fingers. Clarke holds her breath, frantically wishing this isn’t some vivid dream torturing her. But Bellamy’s hand is warm and a little clammy and she lets herself believe it. 

She slides her hand slowly from under his, he startles and tries to pull away but Clarke stops him, chancing a brief glance over, his shoulders are tense in a way she’s come to recognize. He’s nervous, she bites back a smile, facing the fireworks without really seeing them. She turns his palm upward and slides her fingers into the spaces between his. 

The last rocket fires, the finale leaving an imprint of shining shapes on the back of Clarke’s eyelids. The blasts have tinted the sky a murky grey. 

Her phone buzzes. She lets go of Bellamy’s hand, the singeing touch leaving more questions than answers. It’s a text from her mother asking when she’ll be back. 

“I should probably get home.”

“Yeah, me too,” 

Clarke stands, brushing off the stray pieces of grass stuck to her leg. Bellamy gets up too and helps her fold the blanket they had been sitting on. She glances over to where her brother and Monty had been but they’ve disappeared. 

Bellamy scratches his neck and clears his throat, “Clarke?” 

She does her best to quell the catastrophe of question and desperate hope inside her.

“Yeah?” 

His brow is furrowed, he looks torn, “Um, are we… are we okay?”

Warm hands. Long fingers. Lingering touches trailing over soft skin, “What?”

“Us,” God, she likes the way that word sounds in his mouth, his deep voice scrapes out the sound. She wants to know what words taste like on his lips, “I… Things—things have been different and I just wanted to make sure you’re—we’re okay.”

She swallows hard. One beat. Two beats. 

“Yeah, Bellamy, we’re okay,” her throat feels thick but she manages to get the words out in one piece. 

He looks relieved, “Okay good, because I’ve missed you, I feel like I haven’t seen you around and I, I missed…us.”

Clarke swallows hard, staring at his lips. 

“Me too,” she looks up, his eyes are soft, pools of chocolate, bittersweet and perfect. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow? We could marathon a show on Netflix or something,” it comes out casual, but her heart hammers in her chest as she waits for him to respond, she hopes he can’t hear it.

His smile could blind, “Yeah, that sounds great.” 

She tries to swallow the smile threatening to break across her face, “Okay, good.” She stands, the folded blanket in front of her like a shield, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Are you walking home?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just text me when you get there, so I know you got home safe, okay?”

Before she even can think about it, Clarke is up on her toes pressing a soft kiss to Bellamy’s cheek. She steadies herself with a hand on his shoulder. She can smell the chlorine in his hair, it’s long and overgrown and brushes her cheek before she pulls away. 

She turns and walks away down the path between the trees that leads to her street. She doesn’t dare look back, in case he’s still watching her. 

Once she turns the corner, she lets out a breathy laugh, smiling up at the stars. They seem to wink back at her as she picks her way down paths painted black with night and warmed in the glow of streetlamps. It’s gotten cooler, the heat has leached from the ground and she wraps her arms more tightly around the blanket. Her legs are bare, but Bellamy’s sweatshirt hangs loose, wrapping around her in a warm comfort. 

Her lips tingle, and she brings up her hand to touch them as she walks back to her house. She replays the moment, the scratch of unshaven cheek against her lips, his sharp intake of breath. And she wonders. What if. Maybe. Perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to do one final chapter after this, so let me know what you liked or what you'd like to see! Comments are the best and hearing what you guys thought really does make a difference<3 Leave a comment here or on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/). I'm friendly, I promise:)


	3. the truth impales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the lovely readers and commenters, you guys have blown me away with the amount of support you've this fic. I really hope you like this last chapter. Please leave me a comment here or on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/) with what you thought!!
> 
> (And if you check my notes at the bottom, you'll see a something you _might_ be excited about <3)

Clarke's still the Rolling Stones t-shirt she slept in, sipping coffee when someone knocks on the front door. She’s been texting Monty all morning, teasing him with suggestive emojis. He’s one of her closest friends and he’s now dating her brother. It’s her right to bug him.

She opens the door to find Bellamy. His eyes flit up and down, lingering on her legs. Clarke tugs on her tiny sleep shorts, self conscious. Her hair is a messy tangle of curls that hangs heavy on her neck and chipped blue nail polish dots her toes. 

But Bellamy is distracted anyway, agitated. Half present in the moment. He clears his throat and meets her eyes. His eyes are full of raw emotion and Clarke’s grip tightens on the door. 

"Hey Clarke, can I come in?"

“Yeah, of course.” She steps back into her house, “Miller’s still asleep, but I can go get him if—”

“No—no,” He clears his throat, “Um, I’m actually here to talk to you.” 

Worry like sticky black tar coats her throat, her tongue, choking her voice. 

“Oh,” she swallows hard, “Mom’s on shift at the hospital and Dad’s out running errands, so we should be alone, if you’re worried about privacy,” her words trip, hesitation and worry walk hand in hand across her tongue. 

Bellamy nods, jerky, off-beat. It’s odd to see him like this: anxious, nervous. He’s the most put-together person she knows. Bellamy could survive the apocalypse. 

She leads him into the kitchen and hops up on the counter, swinging her feet and letting them thump against the cabinets, her body bursting with nervous energy. She grips the cool counter. White knuckles.

Bellamy paces, running a hand through his hair. 

"Clarke, you're one of my best friends. And I would never—never want to jeopardize that. You mean more to me than—What I’m trying to say is—” he huffs, frustrated, “There’s something important that I need to tell you. I…” his sentence trails off, dead in the water.

Bellamy stops pacing. From her position on the counter, she and Bellamy are the same height. Her breath catches at the full power of his eyes. Bottomless, brimming with feeling.

His face is unguarded, exposed. She’s never seen Bellamy like this. Unmasked, without armor to shield himself. He’s letting everything he’s feeling flood across his face. 

He’s vulnerable. Ragged. 

He steels himself, left hand clenched in a fist, “I’m—I like you, Clarke. I like you. As more than just a friend. I have for a while now. And if—”

He cuts himself off when she grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. His palm is slick with sweat and nerves. 

She tugs him forward until they're just inches apart. Clarke pauses in the space that could change everything. Bellamy’s eyes are careful. Quiet. Hopeful. 

A blink and she's kissing him.

He tastes like mint toothpaste and her favorite song. Like car rides. Windows down, screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs. His lips are soft, sweet. Clarke wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. His tongue slides into her mouth and his hand rises to her jaw. 

It’s a search for answers, forgoing air. Her blood sings in her veins. They fall. Plunge. Together. But it’s not so much falling as flying. 

Bellamy exhales her name against her lips. Breathless and beautiful. Clarke wonders how she ever breathed before. What oxygen tasted like before it mixed with his breath. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against his, relishing how it feels to just be with him. To exist in the same space.

"Hey Bellamy, do you want to go out sometime?" her words slip in on tiptoes, quiet between breaths. 

She senses more than sees his smile. She hears it in his voice, "Like on a date?"

Her lips twist in a grin, "Yeah, like on a date."

He kisses her again. Fervent. Feverish. Fraying at the seams.

Clarke keeps her eyes closed when he pulls away. The blacks of her eyelids do nothing to calm the chatter of her head, her heart. Her thoughts lie scattered. Unconnected trails of emotion. She opens her eyes to meet his dark ones, pupils blown. 

His hand cups her face, fingers tangled in her hair, thumb stroking her cheek. Her fingers and fist the fabric of his shirt, incapable of letting go completely.

She turns her head, pressing her lips softly to his palm.

"Was that a yes?" she speaks the words into his warm hand.

Bellamy laughs. Loud and free and clear. His smile in incandescent, and it makes her heartbeat pulse through her body.

"It was a ‘hell yes.’"

They grin at each other like idiots until Bellamy’s stomach interrupts them with a grumble.

He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink, "Sorry, I haven't had breakfast."

Clarke laughs at him and he nudges her, fond.

Once Clarke changes out of pajamas into jean shorts and a dark blue top, they go get breakfast at a diner. 

It’s almost like before, except now Bellamy slides into the booth right next to her instead sitting across from her. And when he steals a bite of her pancake she grins like always, but today she cuts off a chunk and pushes it onto his plate and kisses his cheek, sticky and syrupy. 

He stares at her lips like he wants to taste her, but they’re in public so he settles for a hand on her knee and her ankle crossed over his beneath the table.

After breakfast they climb into his truck. Clarke immediately puts her feet up on the dash. Bellamy rolls his eyes when she switches the radio to classic rock, but doesn’t complain.

“Where to?” he asks, one hand on the wheel, the other tangled with hers. 

“Let’s just drive.”

They end up at the Dropship, the pond they used to swim at when they were kids. It’s by Bellamy’s old house, the one he and Octavia moved out of when their mom got remarried. She remembers summer there when she was thirteen. Sunburnt nose. Fizzy curls out of control. Running around in her bathing suit all day. Soaking in the sun, desperate for a tan, and cooling off in the water. 

Clarke finds the frayed rope that used to hold a tire swing. She, Bellamy, Miller and Wells spent hours swinging through the air, trying to fly and crashing in a splash. The air is light with the memory of laughter and screams of joy, with innocence, friendship.

Under the oak tree Bellamy kisses her senseless.

It’s a devouring, all-consuming kind of kiss. Hungry lips and biting teases. He slides his tongue over the seam of her mouth and she opens for him. It’s fire and lightning and thunderstorms in summer. Out of control and impossible to restrain. Desperate. Breathless. She never wants to stop kissing him. He tastes like impossible wishes and sweet release. Her heart skips uneven rhythms in her chest, stuttering to keep up.

They end up in the grass. Clarke in Bellamy’s lap. 

His hands slide over her jeans and onto her bare skin beneath her top. She grins against his lips. His fingers grip her hips tightly, before letting go to skim across her ribs to her naked back, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Clarke bites his bottom lip between her teeth and Bellamy groans. It’s probably the best sound she’s ever heard.

Daylight fades into evening. The air gets cool, the world whispers in shades of blue.

Time feels endless, infinite. She feels like anything is possible. She and Bellamy are lying on the hood of his truck, waiting for the stars. When she was little, Clarke used to trace pictures in the constellations. She knew the classic ones: The Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt; but she always added her own. She and Wells would lie there for hours. Seeing forms in the sky, faces in the moon. 

Bellamy’s soft, deep voice breaks through her reflection.

“Clarke…”

She turns to face him, red metal smooth against her spine. He’s already watching her. Eyes filled with promise. 

Bellamy’s eyes have always been the best way to read him. They’re deep as the ocean, strong as a current, pulling her in and dragging her under.

He clears his throat, “I want you to know… I’m serious about you, Clarke.”

She scoots closer, their foreheads touch and noses bump. His hand instinctively finds hers, twining their hands into one.

“It’s always been you, Bellamy.” She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, over the scar on his upper lip. 

“I’m crazy about you,” she whispers, a soft confession. 

“I’m crazy about you too,” he exhales the words against her lips. She wants to swallow them, save them in her soul. 

Eyes shut, praying to never leave this moment.

She kisses him again. Sweet, sentimental, sacred. They lose themselves in each other. She breathes secrets into his skin, against his lips, across his cheeks. The night grows cooler, but Bellamy’s lips are hot on her skin. 

Her heart beats in her brain. Thoughts resounding like rain. _Finally. Finally. Finally._

Her cheek rests on his chest, his lips against her forehead. They’re curled around each other, staring up at the stars, the sky bled black with shade. She closes her eyes, soaking in sound. The click of crickets. Bellamy’s heartbeat against her ear. Their quiet breaths, easy and even.

She’s never felt peace like this, felt happiness in her bones. She feels it in her finger tips, tracing swirling patterns on his chest. She feels it in her smile. Sincere. Sparkling. Surreal. She feels it in in her veins, her ribcage, pumping through her heart. 

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise this 'verse won't let me go. I'm currently planning on doing another bellarke fic in this au with a flash-forward. Would you guys like that? I'm also considering doing a minty side fic, so let me know if that's something you'd be interested in seeing... 
> 
> As always please leave me a comment or talk to me on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/)!! (I love hearing what you guys thought)
> 
> Thank you to all the lovely supporters of this little fic<33

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I'm not sure if I'll continue this or not, but~~ I'd love to hear what you guys think! Leave a comment or talk to me on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> UPDATE: You guys convinced me, I will be continuing this fic. I'm overwhelmed and so grateful to everyone who gave kudos, commented, reblogged, or just thought nice things<33 Thank you!!


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